


Stacy's Mom

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Kidnapping, Murder, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 18:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: Georgie is in a turmoil: Her daughter is seeing a very unsuitable boy, and if that weren't enough it looks like she is about to be kidnapped.If only she could make a bargain with her kidnapper...





	Stacy's Mom

**Author's Note:**

> Very personal work written to cope with things going on in my life. Though I don't have a Lucas to help me out, which is probably for the best....

She knew it was a mistake to drive when she was so upset.

She was crying so hard she could barely see the road and the passing swipes of her sleeve did little to make it any clearer.

She took a corner too fast and felt the tires skid on a patch of gravel, the scenery lurching abruptly to one side in her blurred vision, and her heart seemed to echo the movement in her chest.

_ Enough, _ she told herself.  _ Pull over Georgie. Calm your tits. _

She guided the car onto the side of the road, yanking on the parking brake, turning off the engine.

She was dropped into darkness as her headlamps blinked out, but that suited her just fine. Darkness was where she belonged right now.

She let herself go - leaned over the steering wheel and sobbed until her throat ached. About 60% of the tears came from pure anger. The other 40% was a mixture of frustration, despair and helplessness.

She fumbled her phone from her bag. The screen showed 5 missed calls and an array of texts she didn't want to read, and she dropped it onto the passenger seat.

_ Fucking…..fuck! _

She smashed her fist onto the wheel and was rewarded by an unsatisfying blip from her horn.

She didn't know what had upset her the most - the lies and betrayal or the uselessness of the situation; the inevitable recurring pattern that seemed to have no end.

She pictured Adam standing in the middle of the road. Pictured herself revving the engine and stepping on the gas. Would he go under the wheels or over the hood? She wondered.

Light filled the car, and for a stupid moment she thought she was being visited by aliens, caught herself peering up at the sky, but then the light shifted to the side and she realised it was a vehicle pulling up behind her.

She hit the lock on her door and the mechanism clunked, sealing all four doors.

The road was deserted but for her car and the old van that had just joined her, and she cursed the probability that had brought her new companion.

For fuck’s sake….what were the chances?

_ Fuck off fuck off fuck off fuck off….. _

The newcomer wasn't fucking off, though. He was climbing from his serial-killer van and approaching her, a shifty looking fucker with a hood pulled up, shadows covering most of his face.

She moaned, the rage that had consumed her sweeping aside effortlessly to be replaced by sick fear.

What had she done?

He was right next to her now, a slightly built man with clothes that were too baggy on him, a jut of stubbled chin poking out from under his hood. He was making a turning motion with his hand - the universal signal for “wind your window down” - and bending down to look into the car.

Hand shaking, she touched the button on the inside of the door, the window cracking open a fraction.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Was gonna ask you the same thing,” he said. “Y’all okay in there? Got problems with the car?”

“No - car's fine,” she said with forced cheer. “I just pulled over to….rest. Thanks anyway!”

His headlights were still on, illuminating the interior of her car enough for him to see her but not the other way round. He appeared to be studying her.

“Rest, huh? You sure bout that? Don't mean to be forward, but you look like you could use a whole box o’ kleenex an’ maybe a few shots of bourbon, lady. You all right?”

“I'm fine!”

She kept a smile in her voice, not wanting to piss him off, and slid her hand forward on her lap, bringing it closer to the ignition key.

He sniggered slightly, an inappropriate reaction that only added to her unease.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire….” he said. “Whatever. Guess it's your business. Just one other thing I wanted to say though, ma'am: Get outta the car.”

She'd been distracted enough not to notice the gun that had suddenly appeared in his hand, produced from nowhere like some kind of magic trick, but she certainly noticed it when he tapped the muzzle against the window. The sound of the metal on glass was a small one, but it seemed huge from where she was sitting.

The sinking feeling she'd experienced when his van had pulled up was nothing compared to the one she was hosting now, and the dread was like a solid thing in her belly, pinning her to her seat and extending fearful tentacles into her chest.

She'd cried so much in the last hour she was surprised she had any tears left, but here they were, blurring her eyes, tipping over the edges to run down her cheek.

“Aww, I know….” he said, voice full of ersatz sympathy. “It sucks, an’ it ain't fair. But it's happenin’. So out you get.”

Her hand twitched on her knee, a convulsive jerk that took it nearer to the key in the ignition, and he spotted the movement, causing another, sharper rap of the gun on the window.

“Uh-uh! You stop that right now!” he snapped. “You ain't faster than the trigger on this gun. I can shoot through this window like it's nothin’ and splatter your brains all over the inside of your car! Now quit this bullshit an’ get the fuck out! Now!”

The volume of his threats made her cringe, but she was reaching for the door handle before he'd finished. The lock clunked as it released, and for a moment she had an image of herself shouldering the door open hard, knocking him flat, giving her the chance to drive off.

As if he could read her mind he took a couple of steps back, but the attention of his gun was unwavering.

Miserable and defeated, she opened the door and struggled out.

Her legs shook so much they could barely support her, but she hobbled away from the car at his instruction, expecting at any moment either her knees to give way and spill her onto the ground or the report of the gun as he shot her, but neither thing happened and she stood obediently with her back to the side panel of his van.

“That's good. Well done,” he said. “You did the right thing. Now, I understand you probably got all sorts o’ things goin’ through your head right now. Wonderin’ what I'm gonna do with you. Tellin’ you likely won't put your mind at rest, so I won't do that, but one thing I will say: I didn't drag you outta that car to rape you. So you don't gotta worry about that particular thing.”

His words brought some measure of relief,  but also conjured up a jumble of other fears. She thought of Stacy, saw her face from earlier wearing an expression of reluctant shame and stubborn dignity that was as fragile as her skin under the razor blade she was a slave too.

“Please….” she moaned, fresh tears leaping up in an instant. “Please….I have a daughter….she needs me….”

He sighed.

“Yeah. Thought you prolly did. That don't make me happy, you know - don't like the thought o’ deprivin’ some kid o’ their momma, but that ain't gonna stop me. I know you love your daughter. But do you know who I love?”

She shook her head, an irregular, stuttering movement that made her feel dizzy.

“Me. I love me. I care more about myself than I care about anyone else on this planet, an’ I wanna look after Me.  If I don't do as I'm told, I'm gonna be in a world o’ trouble. So as much as I'm sorry about you an’ your daughter, I ain't sorry enough to let you go.”

Her knees buckled, her head drooped, the dwindling spark of hope she clung onto growing dimmer by the second.

“But why? Why me?” she wept.

“Wrong place at the wrong time,” he said. “For you, at least. For me? Guess you were like findin’ a four-leaf clover. Lucky me, right?”

“Does it have to be me?” she blurted. “Can't it be someone else?”

He chuckled.

“Lady, the chances o’ me findin’ someone dumb enough or careless enough to set themselves up like you did are slim to none. You were perfect! I didn't have to isolate you, or trick you, or use my powers o’ persuasion. You were just sittin’ right there, ready to be picked.”

“What if I could get you someone else?” she said. “Someone who deserves it. Someone the world won't miss?”

He cocked his head to the side.

“Oh? Ain't ideal, to be honest. I mean, I already got you right here. But I gotta admit, you got me curious now. I ain't in no hurry - night's young. Why don't you tell me about this person?”

“He's my daughter’s boyfriend,” she said. “He's an abusive, manipulative piece of shit. He dumps her regularly, just to keep her on her toes, and he did that only last week, but she got back with him again today. I had to listen to her crying and breaking her heart over that miserable bastard, and patch up her cuts too.”

The man's face in the shadow of the hood showed no visible emotion, but he was listening intently, so she continued.

“My daughter is a cutter, you see. I try and hide all the sharp objects in the house but she's resourceful - she can turn anything into a weapon against herself. He's playing with her and she just. Won't.  _ Listen _ !”

She slammed her fist against the side of the van, startling herself.

“He does sound like a shit stain,” conceded her captor. “But can't you just...stop her from seein’ him?”

“It would mean isolating her completely and never letting her out. And that's not healthy for her. That's when she self-harms. So I let her go be with her friends, but she lies to me about who she's with - say she's with Tara but she's really with Adam.”

“I dunno, lady. I mean, he ain't a nice person, but in the grand scheme o’ things he ain't the worst. Don't deserve to die for that.”

It gave her a start, the bald admission that this was a death sentence. She'd assumed as much, but hearing him say it out loud made her feel like she was teetering on a narrow ledge. She took a deep breath. Tried to think.

“He is the worst to me because it's personal,” she said at last. “He's torturing someone I love. Playing with her feelings. Fucking her when he feels like it, dumping her when he's bored. She's only 14, for God's sake….If he was gone for good, it would make everything a lot easier.”

She couldn't see much of her captor’s face, but what little she could looked thoughtful.

“You reckon you could get him here?” he asked finally.

“I'm pretty sure I could. He's always trying to ingratiate himself with me, trying to get me on his side….I think if I told him I needed him he'd come. Just to have something to use against me.”

“Okay. Well. Give it your best shot. I want him here within the hour, though, or the deal’s off. An’ I do NOT wanna be incriminated. Up to you to cover your own ass - that's your problem - but I don't want his disappearance traced back to me. You understand?”

She nodded eagerly.

“I'll need to call him,” she said. “My phone's in the car.”

“Uh...I ain't tellin’ you your business, but you use your own phone there's all kinds o’ ways the cops can find you out. There's a payphone further along the road - you should use that.”

 

They trudged along the edge of the road, keeping close to the treeline. He'd warned her that if any cars came along they'd have to hide, but none did.

“I'm takin’ a huge risk lettin’ you talk me into this, you know,” he said from behind her.

“I know. And I appreciate it,” she said truthfully.

“What does your girl’s daddy think about all this?” he asked. “Ain't there nothin’ he can do?”

“We haven't heard from him for 8 years,” she said. “Could be dead for all I know. Not that it would be much of a loss.”

“So you're all on your own now?” he asked.

“Why? Are you trying to date me?”

He laughed.

“Just curious,” he said. “I've only seen you red-eyed an’ covered in snot but you look like you could be pretty hot the rest of the time. Be surprised if you didn't have a guy.”

“I've never had time for that,” she said.

Her cheeks felt strangely hot as though she were blushing.

“I've always put Stacy first.”

“Seems kind of a waste, you ask me. Show your girl what a healthy relationship should be. But ain't none o’ my business. Here we are…”

She stepped up to the pay phone, fishing her phone from her purse to retrieve Adam’s number. She felt surprisingly calm as she slotted the coins in and dialled, all her shakes and tremors subsided.

It rang a few times before he picked up, and only then did she feel some stirrings of negative emotions, but they were all aimed at the person at the end of the line and not the person standing behind her.

“Who the fuck is this?”

Adam’s voice made her teeth clench.

“It's Stacy’s mom,” she replied, fighting to keep the distaste from being too apparent.

“Oh! Shit. Sorry about that Mrs M. Didn't realise. Hehe. Stacy isn't with me, by the way. If that's what you were calling about.”

“No...I was calling because I need your help. I got a flat and I can't change the tire by myself. If you want to get in my good books, helping me out would be a good start.”

It sounded ridiculous to her, but Adam wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, and he was no doubt thinking of the advantages to be earned in coming to her rescue. He jumped at the chance, and she gave him directions before hanging up and letting out all the poisoned air that had gathered in her lungs during the conversation.

“He fell for it,” she said. “Dumb ass.”

The man laughed.

“I'm likin’ you more an’ more, lady. I really hope he does show up, because it would be a cryin’ fuckin’ shame to have to use you instead.”

They started the short walk back to the car.

“So this boy's old enough to drive, huh?”

“Yes. I know three years isn't much of an age gap when you say it out loud, but with Stacy only being 14, that age gap is more like a chasm.”

“Yeah, I get you. Used to be a guy at my school - big dumb asshole. Dropped out, but was forever comin’ back to hang out with kids three or four years younger than him. They thought he was hot shit. Didn't realise how much of a loser he looked like to everyone else.”

They reached the car, and stood in awkward silence.

“Do you have a name?” she asked eventually.

He cackled, the noise too loud and out of place in their surroundings.

“I may be a lot o’ things, lady, but I know I ain't dumb enough to tell you my name!”

She giggled despite herself.

“I was just making polite conversation,” she said. “But I'd like to call you something...”

She looked at his chest where the initials of some sports team or something were written on his hoodie: LCS. She said it to herself, jamming the letters together into a word.

“Well, I'll just call you Lucas, then,” she said, nodding towards the yellow letters, and it may have been her imagination but she was sure he flinched.

“Call me whatever you want, long as it's not late for for supper,” he said easily. “How about you? Should I call you anythin’?”

“My name's Georgia,” she said, not bothering to make up a lie. “People call me Georgie though.”

“Georgie, huh? You wanna balloon, Georgie?”

It was an odd association to make, but it made her smile. She'd always been a huge Stephen King fan.

“No thanks. I want to keep my arm. Look, I don't know how long it's going to take for Adam to get here, but he might get suspicious if he sees your van. Shouldn't you move it?”

“Yeah. I should.”

He hesitated.

“I'm not going to try and escape. I know it's wrong, but….I really do want Adam gone. Trust me. I'm a concerned mom.”

He nodded.

“Guess I don't have much choice. I'll hide it in those bushes. Gimme your purse, though.”

She was confused, the request coming out of left field, but before she'd had time to wonder about it he'd snatched it from her shoulder.

“Just a precaution,” he said, digging through the mess of chapsticks and wadded kleenex and tampons until he found her wallet.

He opened it up, whipping out her driver's licence, and for what seemed like the millionth time that night she felt her heart sink.

His lips moved briefly as he read her address, committing in to memory, but then his gaze flicked over to her picture and she saw the corners of his mouth turn up a little.

“Hey! I was right. Kinda hot. Get your hair done before you had the picture taken?”

She nodded, strangely embarrassed.

“Looks good. You should wear it like that that again.”

He replaced the licence back in her wallet and slipped the wallet back in her purse, handing the whole lot back to her.

“There you go!” he said cheerfully. “Now if y’all run, I know where to find you!”

He laughed at her stricken expression.

“Relax, Georgie. I ain't gonna be payin’ you no visits. I'm a low-risk predator. Snatchin’ people outta their homes ain't my style. Now you just settle down an’ wait here while I get this bitch outta sight.”

She watched him climb back into his van, tucking his gun into his hoodie. She could still make a break for it, she thought - head straight for the police and just hope she could outrun him without going off the road. His prints were all over her driver's licence, and he looked like the sort of person who might be on their records. But….she didn't want to.

It was pure evil, she was aware of that, but she didn't care what fate awaited Adam at the hands of this strange man - she wanted him gone. It was no excuse that she wanted what was best for her daughter: The road to hell was paved with good intentions and that was surely where she was headed after this. But it would be worth it.

Georgie stayed put.

 

Lucas hid his van, and then himself behind a nearby tree. He was close enough for them to talk and they did so, shooting the shit about inconsequential matters as though they were only drinking a beer together, not lying in wait for a 17 year old boy.

It wasn't too long before they heard the approaching engine of a car going slightly too fast, taking tight corners with reckless disregard for the dangers.

Georgie felt her stomach tighten, but it was more from excitement than anxiety.

If all went well, Stacy would never sit in that car again. She would never have to worry about his asshole driving and fear that her daughter would end up a victim to his carelessness.

“Here we go. It's showtime!” said Lucas, and he sounded just as excited as she did. “That boy think he's a fuckin’ Nascar driver or somethin’?”

“Probably,” she said. “What should I do?”

“Where's your spare tire? In the trunk?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Get him to open the trunk, then stand back. I'll do the rest. And when I tell you to leave, you leave. Got it?”

“Yes,” she said meekly.

Her mind was racing but she fought to maintain her outward calm as Adam’s car pulled up with an unnecessary squeal of tires. She forced a careful smile onto her face.

“Hey Mrs M,” he said as he got out.

He had a young looking face, deceptively babyish and innocent looking, but knowing what lurked behind the facade normally made her want to slap it. He was smirking, looking smug that she'd been reduced to asking him for help, and though it should have annoyed her she felt utterly at peace.

“Guess I got some uses after all, huh?” he said, sniggering. “Ain't the useless piece o’ shit you been tellin’ everybody I am.”

“I'm sorry, Adam. I apologize for that. I was hasty. I appreciate you helping me out like this.”

He sniggered again.

“Yeah, well. You're lucky I don't hold a grudge. Makes sense we might as well be friends since I'm seein’ your daughter. Cuz we both know she ain't ever gonna give me up.”

Georgie’s smile felt stretched and unnatural now, her cheeks stiff like she was wearing a mask.

“The spare is in the trunk,” she said through the hole in her mask.

“Uh-huh.”

He opened the trunk up and peered inside.

“You sure got a lotta junk in your trunk Mrs M,” he said, laughing at his own joke. “Just like your daughter….”

He winked at her, hooking his fingers under the spare, and as he straightened Lucas appeared behind him as though he'd stepped through a portal.

Adam didn't get a chance to react before a wiry arm looped around his throat. The boy's eyes widened in an incomprehension that became understanding when the muzzle of the gun touched his temple.

“Don't fuckin’ move...” said Lucas.

His voice was low and far deeper than it had been when he’d been talking to her. It hit a weird chord within her, the timbre sending an almost pleasant tingle down her spine.

“Help!” squawked Adam. “Mrs M! Call the cops!”

She stood, mute, fascinated by little scene in front of her. The whites of his eyes showed all the way around, and that together with his wide mouth open made him resemble some kind of gaping fish.

“Shut the fuck up!” snarled Lucas, grinding the metal against his temple, and Adam’s eyes rolled up onto his head.

Lucas released him and he dropped to the ground, floppy as a rag doll.

“How did you do that?” asked Georgie, astonished. “Was it pressure points?”

“I didn't do nothin’!” said Lucas, sounding just as taken aback as she was. “He just fuckin’ passed out….”

He leaned over the crumpled boy, prodding him with the toe of his shoe.

“Looks like I scared the piss outta him. Literally,” he said, pointing to the front of Adam’s sweatpants.

The pale grey fabric had a growing, darker stain over the crotch, and Georgie let out a shocked yelp of laughter, clapping her hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god….I'm going to hell…” she said helplessly.

“Yeah, well. I'll see ya down there,” said Lucas. “Gonna be quite the party, I reckon.”

He tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants.

“You might as well go,” he said. “I'll take it from here. Get rid o’ the car too. All that shit. You go on home an’ spend some time with your daughter.”

“I will,” she said. “And thank you!”

She lurched towards him, nearly tripping over the recumbent body, and flung her arms around him in an impulsive hug. He twitched in the hasty circle of her arms as though he wasn't used to being touched, but didn't pull away.

“Thank you for sparing me. And thank you for taking care of that shitheel.”

He felt even thinner than he looked, her arms sinking through the thickness of his hoodie a long way before she actually encountered his body. He was like a bundle of twigs in her grip. His clothes kicked up a powerful smell of body odour, and in that moment she wanted to take him home and feed him. Wash his clothes.

She felt an uncertain hand alight on her hip. The gun was pressing into her belly - at least, she thought it was the gun - and he turned his head, stubble grazing her cheek.

“My pleasure…” he murmured, a hot waft of cigarette tinged breath touching her neck.

She stepped away, feeling awkward and suddenly flustered.

The moment had passed - the strange, surreal giddiness - and now the fear was returning.

She slammed the trunk shut and stumbled back to the car, feeling his eyes on her back.

“See ya around…” he called.

She started the car up and drove away, the tableau receding behind her until it was no longer visible.

 

The shakes got ahold of her just as she arrived home. The realisation of what she had done shook her very bones and she pulled into her driveway feeling her teeth chatter together.

_ Oh my fucking God what have I done? What have I just done? _

She had sent a boy to his death. Willingly. Even gladly.

She had bargained with a person who was most likely a serial killer and brought him a victim as a substitute for herself.

She felt nauseous, sour spit flooding her mouth, and she retched, holding onto her belly.

“This is fucked up,” she moaned. “This is so fucked up…..”

She closed her eyes, tipped her head back. Tried to steady her breathing. When she opened her eyes again she was looking up at her house.

There was a light on upstairs, the cosy glow of a lamp in Stacy’s bedroom window.

What had she done?

She had done what she had to do.

She'd face the consequences when - if - they caught up with her, but until then she was going to take care of her daughter.

 

Forgetting what happened would have been impossible anyway, but the constant reminders of the Missing Person posters appearing all over town really kept everything at the forefront of her mind no matter how much she tried to push it aside.

The first few days with Stacy had been tough. She had been distraught at the unanswered messages and the never-picked-up phones calls, lying on her bed and wailing that she'd been ghosted, but once the news filtered through that he was missing, she took it oddly well.

Maybe it was because the evidence showed that he hadn't deserted her voluntarily - the cops were treating his disappearance as suspicious - or maybe it was simply because at 14, the concept of a missing and possibly dead boyfriend had an almost romantic ring to it.

Friends - along with people that hadn't been friends but were putting themselves forward as such in light of the events - flooded her with messages offering sympathy and asking questions.

For a brief time, Stacy was Somebody.

It died down. Such things always do. But it left Stacy with a sense of importance that she hadn't had before. She was the girl whose boyfriend had gone missing and she was a tragic figure.

Georgie did her best to act appropriately. It was no secret that she'd despised Adam, so she couldn't appear too upset, but she expressed careful condolences for his parents and told people:

“I wanted him out of her life, but not like this….”

Secretly, though, she fought a constant battle between uneasy delight and gnawing guilt. So far, she hadn't found a happy medium.

 

A month had passed. The cops had no new leads, and without them the local news network lost interest. No developments to report meant no news.

Georgie was just glad Adam’s face wasn't constantly being broadcast. They used the same photos over and over, and in all of them he looked like an insufferable douche.

It was the weekend and Stacy was staying with a friend. To Georgie it was utter bliss that she didn't have to worry whether her daughter really was with a friend or whether she was with Adam.

Her car was also away for the weekend, staying with the mechanics at the auto repair shop, so she'd been forced to take the bus, and that meant an uncomfortable walk to her house past the army of teens that congregated on the walls and trashcans near her house. She hated walking past them, feeling the collective eyes of the group on her, but the worst they had ever done was catcall. So far. She didn't like them there. They dropped litter and blocked the sidewalk and were generally a pain in the ass.

Once she'd run the gauntlet it was better though, and she stood in the safe glow of her porch light looking for her keys. There was a bottle of wine waiting for her in the fridge, and a good deal of leftover pot roast from the night before, so she didn't have to cook. She could have a nice long soak in the bath, she thought. Plenty of bubbles. A chance to forget about all the things she had on her mind. Adam might be gone but there was always another problem waiting to step in...

She was half way through sliding the key into the lock when she felt someone at her side, a presence that made her elbow tingle, and her first thought was that it was one of the teenagers from near the bus stop, but that notion was shattered by the voice that trickled into her ear from inches away.

“He died, you know,” it said.

She froze, hand on the key in the door, too scared to move.

“Know you prolly guessed that, but just thought I'd let you know. Just to be sure. He ain't comin’ back.”

She didn't reply - she couldn't, truth be told. Her throat felt clenched shut by her panic, and Lucas gave a soft laugh at her predicament.

“Don't be like that, Georgie. I just came to see how you was doin’. Where's your daughter? Stacy, isn't it?”

Her daughter’s name broke the hold her terror had over her, and she managed to choke out a sentence. 

“She's upstairs in her room,” she lied, and that made him laugh again.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he said. “I know she ain't home. Saw her leave about an hour ago. Where she at? She got a new boyfriend?”

Georgie shook her head.

“She's at a friend's. I checked with Tara’s mother to make sure.”

“Good for you. That there's some responsible parentin’. Anyways. You gonna leave us standin’ on the stoop all day or are we gonna go inside? I don't really wanna be seen, you know?”

She nodded, but couldn't make the muscles in her arm work, and after a few seconds she heard him sigh.

“Lemme help you out there….”

His arm appeared, slender hand poking out from the frayed cuff of the same hoodie he'd worn before and closing over hers.

He applied gentle pressure, turning her hand and with it the key, and the door popped open.

“There ya go,” he said happily. “Weren't so hard!”

Georgie leaned in and flicked on the light in the hall before entering. She felt strange now the initial shock had worn off, wildly seesawing between the creeping fear that she was going to meet the same fate as Adam and the excitement she'd felt from a month ago, like something momentous was about to happen. Her life had changed drastically in the past month, new experiences introduced that she found she was able to cope with, and the reason for this was standing next to her.

Lucas shut the door behind him, and the click of the latch had a finality to it that caused her fluctuating mood to swing towards fear again.

She turned to him. His hood was down, and in the unforgiving light of the hall she finally saw him in all his greasy glory.

Whatever he'd been through, whatever had caused him to do what he did, it had left its mark on him.

His skin had a greyish, unhealthy tinge to it, stretched gaunt over what she had to admit was an incredible bone structure. His eyes were a startling, cold blue, quite remarkable, but they were sunk deep into his face and surrounded by the purple flesh of exhaustion.

The man was half starved and sleep deprived, she realised, and she remembered wanting to feed him, to wash his clothes and look after him. She felt that again, to her consternation, softening towards this killer through what was likely misguided compassion.

“What?” he demanded, appearing uncomfortable with her scrutiny. “Didn't your momma tell you it's rude to stare?”

“Didn't your momma tell you it's rude to stalk someone?” she countered mildly, and his mouth twitched into a self-conscious grin.

“Subject never came up,” he said. “Anyway. Ain't stalkin’. Just a friendly interest.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she said. “Come on.”

She led him into the kitchen. There was a part of her that was aware she'd gone there because it was neutral territory: informal without being too cosy. Another part was considering her access to knives.

“So how has Stacy been?” he asked. “She okay?”

“Actually she's doing pretty good,” said Georgie. “Her scars are healing. Bruises have faded. She’s still pretty fragile, though. She isn't eating. But I can't expect miracles.”

She cast another glance over him, taking in from his dirty tennis shoes to the sparse hair on the top of his head.

“Speaking of eating,” she said. “You look like you could do with a decent meal. I've got some leftover pot roast, if you want it….”

“Oh, man...really? That sounds fuckin’ great,” he said.

Georgie hesitated.

“Don't take it personal or anything, but if you want to shower too, you're quite welcome.”

He winced. It was barely visible, just a brief tightening of the face muscles, but she felt bad for saying anything.

He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. His ears had gone red and a sickly pink tinge touched his pallid cheekbones.

“That’d be good too,” he said. “Y’know, we don't get much hot water at my house. Don't get chance to clean myself up much….”

“It's okay, I understand,” she said quickly. “Want me to wash your clothes too?”

He raised his eyebrows, a faint smile touching his mouth.

“Oh? You plannin’ to have me sit down to eat buck naked?”

It was her turn to blush.

“Don't be silly! I've got some clothes you can wear for a spell.”

He laughed.

“Okay then. Thanks.”

 

There was an old pair of sweatpants her ex-husband had left behind. At the time she'd considered burning them along with the rest of his stuff, but had decided to keep them because they were loose and comfy and good for lounging around in.

She found a t-shirt, too, a shrunken and faded Foo Fighters one from a long ago gig she'd gone to.

He’d refused to allow her to pick up his dirty clothes, insisting he'd put them in the washer himself, either from embarrassment or, she reflected, because he had some kind of weapon in there.

The latter thought didn't worry her, she realised: At some point she'd accepted his presence as a friendly one, and it was a reaction she hoped she wouldn't regret.

She heated up the pot roast to the sound of water running through the pipes and splashing overhead. It was an oddly comfortable sound, informal and cosy, and she almost forgot she had a possible serial killer under her roof. Almost.

She started to set the table when the water shut off, piling his plate high, wishing she'd thought to make some cornbread when she'd had the chance.

There was a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge, and she put that out too, along with a couple of glasses.

Lucas came downstairs. His skin looked scrubbed raw, not quite lobster red, and she guessed he'd taken advantage of the hot water and turned it up high. What little hair he had on his head was all fluffed up, and she had to fight the instinct smooth it down.

He hadn't shaved - no doubt he hadn't wanted to risk almost certain bloodloss from the dainty pink lady-razors she and Stacy used - but she kind of liked the scruff of stubble along his chin. It softened what must have been a formidable jawline.

“Started the washer up,” he told her.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. Don't look so shocked. Ain't rocket science,” he scoffed.

“My ex didn't think so.”

“Yeah, well, your ex must have been a dumbass.”

“You know what? You're right! How did you guess?”

He grinned, shrugging his narrow shoulders. The t-shirt fitted him well enough, but the pants were baggy on him, hanging low on his hips, and he hitched them up as he sat down.

“Oh, boy, this smells fucking great,” he said, snatching up his fork.

“Don't wait for me. Dig in,” said Georgie.

He didn't need telling twice.

 

He ate like a labrador, shovelling the food down with barely any chewing, hunched jealously over his plate as if he was scared someone would take it away. 

Georgie had set the sweet tea next to him and he'd gulped down three glasses before she’d finished sipping her first.

He finished the first helping and accepted another eagerly, slowing down only barely this time round.

“I take it it tastes ok?” asked Georgie, smiling.

“God, yeah,” he said between mouthfuls. “You have no idea. I been surviving on crap for the longest time. Takeout an’ junk food. Used to be I loved bein’ able to eat that shit whenever I wanted, but after a while I started to miss my mom’s cookin’....”

He trailed off, and scooped up another forkful.

“Is your mom….still around?” asked Georgie.

She had no idea about his family circumstances and it was the most tactful way of asking she could think of.

“She's alive, if that's what you mean. But her an’ sanity ain't been real familiar with each other for a while.”

“Oh! I'm sorry...Is it Alzheimer’s?”

He didn't look up from his plate.

“Somethin’ like that. Look, I don't really wanna talk about it, Georgie. Came here to get away from all that.”

“Of course. I'm sorry.”

She leaned over the table and patted his hand.

“Let's talk about something else.”

“Sure,” he said, staring at the part of his hand that she'd touched. “I'll start: You dated anyone else since you an’ your ex split?”

“Wha-? Well, yes. A couple of guys. Nothing serious. Why do you ask?”

Georgie turned her face away to avoid his gaze, taking a long gulp of tea. He was watching her reaction closely.

“I just figured a woman like you would be able to cope on your own, but maybe you'd miss a little, uh,  _ male company. _ You're a mom, I get that, but you got needs. Right?”

“This isn't really an appropriate conversation for the dinner table,” she said primly, aware of how hot her face felt. “Now behave, or you won't get any pie for dessert.”

“You got pie?” he exclaimed, his face lighting up.

“Yes I have. It's pecan. So hush and finish your supper.”

 

If she thought she'd escaped the more personal discussion she was wrong. He kept quiet while she stacked the plates in the sink and ran water over them, the juddering of the water pipes making conversation impossible anyway. He didn't say anything while she cut a big wedge of pie for him.

But by the time she’d sat down and he'd inhaled a few bites of pie he was ready to go again.

“I get you don't wanna talk about your needs,” he said. “That's personal shit. So let's talk about mine.”

“I'm not sure I like where this conversation is going, Lucas…”

“Naw, naw...hear me out,” he said. “I'm a lonely guy. You prolly guessed that. This, right here -”

He beckoned with his spoon back and forth between the pair of them.

“- this is the closest I've had to a normal conversation in the longest time. My life's fucked up, Georgie. My family's nuts. My momma’s crazy, my dad's violent, my sister’s a recluse. I need someone to talk to. Someone I can go to when it all gets too much.”

Georgie was nodding with relief. She was confused by his family circumstances, but they didn't concern her, and conversation? Refuge? She could provide those things.

The next words out of his mouth brought that relief crashing down.

“I need a girlfriend, Georgie. Been thinkin’ about it a lot, an’ I reckon you're the right woman for the job.”

Georgie spluttered, nearly choking on her mouthful of pie. Lucas watched placidly, sucking sticky pecan filling from his spoon.

“I know,” he said. “You weren't expectin’ that. An’ I’m sorry if I shocked you. But you gotta admit, it's a good idea.”

“Lucas….”

Georgie wheezed, sipping more tea as the spasms in her throat died down.

“That's….”

She picked up words, discarded them.

Ridiculous. Stupid. Crazy.

None of them fit and all of them would have offended him, and even though she was no longer worried about him killing her, she  _ was  _ worried about hurting his feelings.

He sat and waited, studying her with those blue eyes, patient as he scraped the last of the crumbs from his bowl.

“The age difference….” she said finally, offering it up as a feeble excuse. “I'm gonna be 40 soon, Lucas!”

“Age is just a number,” he replied calmly. “Don't bother me none.”

“I've got a teenage daughter!”

“She ain't here all the time, Georgie. I  _ know  _ she aint. She don't have to know.”

“But….”

She floundered, trying to think of a way to lay down the facts without being mean, and he smiled.

“Lemme tell you somethin’, Georgie: I liked you from the minute I saw you. I'll be honest, I ain't the nicest guy in the world. Fact, I'm an asshole. I don't got a lot o’ empathy in me. But when I saw you sittin’ cryin’ in your car, I almost felt bad for you. I prolly would o’ taken you anyway, but then you gave me an alternative, an’ I was actually glad. I like you, Georgie. You're smart, sassy, literate, funny. Considerate. I mean, I just showed up an’ you fed me an’ let me shower an’ wash my clothes. You'd take care o’ me.”

Georgie sighed. The relief was returning, cautious yet hopeful.

“There's another word for what you want me to be Lucas, and that's Mother. You want me to be your Mom.”

Lucas shook his head slowly, still staring.

“Naw. That ain't it Georgie. An’ I'll tell you why: I know we're from the South an’ all, but I ain't never wanted to fuck my Momma….”

She froze. There it was. He'd said it. She didn't know how to respond, but she made an effort anyway.

“I'm not exactly in the prime of my life, Lucas. Having a baby and getting older has taken its toll. I've got stretch marks. Cellulite. A cesarian scar. When I take my bra off my tits look like a pair of spaniel’s ears!”

He shrugged.

“I don't care. Nobody's perfect.”

“Wouldn't you be better off trying to find someone your own age? I mean, why  _ me _ ?”

He sighed.

“I don't stand much of a chance with girls my own age. I ain't a pretty boy. I know. I ain't dumb. But I saw you, Georgie - I saw you when I had that boy in a headlock an’ you was lookin’ at me like you coulda eaten me alive. I been thinkin’ about that an awful lot. Every night. It's why I came back. Because I thought I might be in with a chance - even a little bitty one….”

She coughed. Picked up her bowl.

“I'm sorry Lucas, but you're mistaken,” she said briskly, pushing her chair back. “I like you, but I don't see you that way.”

“Aw, c’mon...Really? How about that hug afterwards? Pressing up against me like that….that didn't mean nothin’?”

“It was gratitude,” she lied, cursing herself for that momentary weakness. “That's all.”

Lucas stood, lifting his bowl. His sweatpants had sagged down again and he didn't bother to hitch them up this time. She looked away from the fringe of fuzz above the waistband of the pants, but not before she caught a glimpse of his cock,clearly visible through the fabric, a long ridge outlined in soft jersey.

Georgie stood too, flustered, turning and dumping her bowl into the sink. She could hear him approaching her, bare feet on the tiled floor. She ran more water and the stream hit her spoon, shooting up in a sheet and drenching the front of her blouse.

Lucas leaned round her to add his bowl to the stack of dirty dishes, his chest brushing against her upper arm as the pipes clanged and clattered again.

“You're wet,” he observed, the innocent phrase sounding all the dirtier coming from him.

“No shit,” she muttered.

His fingers appeared on her wrist, no force behind them, but he didn't need to apply any. Just his touch froze her in place.

“Why don't you leave those?” he suggested, putting slight pressure at his fingertips now, urging her to drop her hand.

“Please?”

Her heart was beating so loud she was surprised she could hear him.

She didn't dare turn, but stayed where she was, her belly pressing against the edge of the sink. She didn't know what to do. He'd trapped her with his proximity, and though she could easily have walked away, she didn't want to. But she was scared - not of him but of herself.

His fingers trailed along her arm until they reached her elbow and he took a gentle grip on it, encouraging her to move, trying to get her to face him, but she wouldn't budge. She shrugged his hand off and picked up a fork.

She felt him sigh, a big gust that fluttered tendrils of hair against her neck.

“Aw, come on Georgie!” he complained. “Don't be like that! I'll be good to you - I swear! Make sure you're safe. Keep an eye on you - an’ on your girl. Any lowlife boys turn up sniffin’ ‘round Stacy, they'll be gone ‘fore they can take root. I'll scare ‘em off. An’ I'll be the faithfullest, most devoted boyfriend ever. ”

He rested his hand on her hip. Last time she'd been this close to him she'd felt his gun poking into her, but it wasn't his gun she could feel this time.

“If you don't wanna, then just say so an’ I'll stop, but -”

“Stop,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Stop,” she repeated.

His hand dropped and he took a step back. She turned now, saw his face, full of hurt and dismay, but he'd stopped when told to, killer or not.

“Lucas….”

“It's okay….” he mumbled, chin dropping. “You don't have to explain. I get it.”

“Yes I do! I do have to explain. Lucas, when you came here tonight did you bring condoms?”

“What? No.”

“Just as I thought. I don't have any either. And I'm not on any birth control. Why would I be? It's been a long time since I've been with anyone. I'm too old to be having babies, Lucas…”

She watched his face shift, fleeting expressions forming and fading as he processed the information.

“So...you wanna?” he said eventually, the realisation dawning. “You wanna do it with me? Really?”

“Yes. I honestly do.”

It was true, too - she wasn't saying it to placate him. She was old enough to be careful, not to act upon hasty desires, and even though fucking this young man wasn't the most sensible decision it was one she'd already made.

He grinned.

“Hey, you know I could pull out before I finished an’ -”

“No!”

She held up a decisive hand, cutting him off abruptly.

“You've watched too much porn, Lucas. That won't work. You've got a lot to learn.”

“And you're gonna teach me, huh?”

“That's right. And it starts here. Take a seat, Lucas.”

 

_ Stupid, _ she told herself as she got ready.  _ You're stupid, you know that Georgie? You're no better than those dumb bitches who write to serial killers in prison. What the fuck are you doing? _

Her sensible self was probably right, but she found she didn't much care. Humans were good at justifying their actions, and Georgie was no exception. He might be a killer, but he was nice to her, and she didn't doubt his promises to look after her. He struck her as the type who took care of what he had because he was used to not having much.

He'd obeyed her promptly and was sat on the kitchen chair watching her with excited curiosity. His cock was hard, tenting the front of the sweatpants, the thick curve bent against the cloth, and she felt a touch of pleased smugness.

_ I did that,  _ she thought.  _ That's there because of me _ .

She kept a tube of hand lotion in the kitchen, as the dishsoap tended to dry her skin out, and she snagged it from its station by the sink. After a moment's thought she grabbed a clean towel from the nearest drawer too.

She put both items on the table, and pulled up her own chair so it was right in front of Lucas.

His eyes had widened at the sight if her supplies, a happy grin forming on his lips.

“This should tide you over,” said Georgie as she sat down facing him. “Pull your pants down.”

He did so without delay, hooking his thumbs into the elastic and yanking the pants down to his thighs, bare ass hitting the wood seat with a smack. His hard-on had gotten caught on the waistband and it boinged back and forth comically, swaying like a tree in a strong wind.

Georgie unbuttoned her cuff and pushed her sleeve up.

“Nice,” she commented, squirting a liberal blob of lotion into her palm, and his dick twitched in response to the compliment.

It had been a long time since she’d last had a dick in her hand, she reflected, and this was a decent one to greet her on her way out of temporary celibacy. It was a good size: Not too long or short; enough thickness to make its presence felt without hurting; and, thanks to his earlier shower, it was nice and clean.

She wrapped her hand around the hot shaft, feeling a little tremor run through it, hearing the smallest of moans trapped behind his lips.

“How's that?” she asked as she started to stroke him. “Is that good?”

He nodded, made dumb by the motion of her hand, eyes fixed on the movement as though it hypnotised him. She smiled. This wasn't going to take long.

“This is just the start, Lucas,” she told him. “This is just a taste of what you can have. You'll bring condoms next time?”

“Uhn-hnn,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Good boy. Because if you do, I won't have to jerk you off, will I? We can fuck. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“Oh, yeah….” he breathed.

He was holding the sides of his chair, knuckles white, the long muscles in his thighs tensed.

“It's gonna be  _ good,  _ Lucas. I've had plenty of experience. The things I can do to you….”

She reached round with her left hand and cupped his balls. They were tight and full, heavy in her palm, and she let her fingertips tickle the stretch of skin behind them.

He whimpered, biting down on his lower lip, and before she had time to say anything else he'd cum, dick pulsing in her hand, spunk pattering in a brief rain on his belly.

“Oh, my!” she said, startled by the suddenness and the quantity. “That's a  _ lot _ !”

The rest of it trickled down over her fingers, the last few drops oozing out in a slower stream, and he sighed.

“Sorry ‘ bout that,” he said. “Didn't expect to go off so soon. I, uh, can normally hang on longer than that….”

“It's fine,” she said. “I don't mind. You're young. I'm betting you can go over and over, right?”

“Oh, yeah! I sure can!” he said happily. “You wait and see!”

 

She used the towel to clean them both up, and he wandered off to transfer his clothes to the dryer as she washed the dishes.

She felt...comfortable, she realised. Lucas was no effort to be around, he had no expectations and likely very low standards. A decent meal and a handjob was all he required to keep him content. Maybe he'd stick around awhile and keep her company if she promised him another one, she mused. Maybe even a blowjob if she was in the mood.

And of course, there was that problem she'd been dealing with. He might be able to help...

She was sipping wine when he returned, the bottle that had been waiting for her all day.

“They'll be dry soon,” he said, and he sounded a little miserable now.

“You're not in any hurry to leave, are you?” she asked.

“No way!” he said. “Longer I'm outta that fuckin’ dump the better.”

“Well, good. Because I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?”

“I need your help.”

“What can I do for you, Georgie?”

He sat down. He looked serious, giving her his full attention, and just that on its own made her feel better.

“A few days ago a colleague from work called round,” she told him. “Said he needed help with a report that's due next week. He was lying, though - he didn't want help with his report, he wanted help with his dick, it turned out, and, unlike you, the word stop didn't mean anything to him.”

Lucas was frowning,  

“No shit? Fuck, Georgie, why didn't you tell me this before? Are you okay? What did the cops say?”

“I don't know. I never called them.”

Lucas nodded. His was a world where one didn't call the cops.

“Okay. So. You want me to go get him? I can fuck him up real good, Georgie, just tell me where he lives!”

Georgie smiled. It was exactly what she'd hoped to hear.

“You don't have to go to his house, Lucas. He's right here. I put him in the basement. He's chained to the pipes. I've been feeding him, but I can't keep him there forever, and I don't know what to do with him.”

“Really? Well, that makes things easier. Wait till my clothes are dry an’ I'll take him with me, how's that?”

“Perfect….”

She hadn't known how he'd react, but the simplicity of his response created a relief that was like a physical burden lifted from her back, making her feel light-headed, and Lucas leaned back in his chair like it was just another day.

“In the meantime,” he said. “Could sure use another glass o’ tea.”

“Of course!”

She stood up to fetch the pitcher, brushing past Lucas on the way. If he wanted a blow job he could have one. He could have two! And the rest of the pie.

“Couldn't help noticin’ a bunch o’ teens hangin’ round on the corner nearby,” said Lucas as she got a clean glass from the cupboard. “Look like they was up to no good. They a problem for you?”

“Sometimes. Make me feel uncomfortable anyways,” she admitted.

She poured his tea, listening to the ice cubes crack as the warmer fluid touched them.

“Well. They get too much, lemme know. You look after me an’ I'll look after you, Georgie. That's how this is gonna work. We can take care o’ each other.”

She put the pitcher back in the fridge and carried his glass to the table.

“That sounds perfect, Lucas. Sounds fucking perfect…” she said truthfully.

It had been a long time since someone wanted to look after her.

His hair still stuck up at the back, a stray cowlick that needed taming, and this time she didn't bother to resist.

She smoothed it down as she passed him, stroked it into place, and it was soft as puppy fur. It sprang up the second she took her hand away, so she stroked it again, even though she knew it wouldn't stay.

He glanced up as he took the glass from her.

“That's real nice,” he said, as though it surprised him.

She smiled.

“Got more nice stuff where that came from,” she told him. “Now drink up. If you're ready, I got something else you might like.”


End file.
